


Haunting Smiles

by mayathepsychic



Category: Electric Century, Gerard Way and the Hormones, My Chemical Romance, frnkiero andthe cellabration
Genre: Angst, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sad, Suicidal Thoughts, Violence, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-15
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-04-21 00:11:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4807562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayathepsychic/pseuds/mayathepsychic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one wants to go to war, but the draft's a bitch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Induction

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jonnymonts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonnymonts/gifts).



> Well I finally got around to writing my first fic ever! This is based off The Ghost of You Music Video and I'll edit it all the time. (I still need to get a few of the dates and history down, so at first dates won't be there but as I do more research I'll add them) If you have any information on WWII/D-Day or any general information on the early military, I would love to lend an ear because I need all the information possible for this story.

**  
**

     He wasn’t sure what to do first, go inside, or call the police. Gerard couldn’t possibly imagine what could be waiting for him in his apartment. It was unknown how long his door had been left ajar, so it was unknown what had been done in that frame of time. But Gerard stood still, his breathing starting to catch up with his ever quickening heart rate. Finally deciding that he could handle whatever lied within. For God’s sake, he lived in Jersey, break ins were a daily ritual. He waited for his breathing to regulate before he started his countdown...3...2...1… his hand met the doorknob as his foot greeted the bottom of the door, making his entry as silent as possible. Slowly opening the door, Gerard saw nothing, the hallway facing him was dark and vacant, just the way he left it. As he walked in from the foyer, he started to check out the first room. Looking into the open TV room, nothing, as he was turning to leave, something golden shimmered on his left eye. Scanning the room for the annoying light, he noticed a reflection coming off of the desk’s lamp.

 

     Stepping closer he noticed where the light was coming from, carefully directing his gaze towards the kitchen on his right, he saw the lonely hanging-by-a-wire light had been turned on. Underneath it shadowed the figure of a guy, no older than himself grasping his hair tightly in his hands, head leaning against the table’s edge with an envelope inches away. Except Gerard knew this guy, knew his hair, knew his slim frame, knew the nibbled down fingernails showing under his long-sleeve covered hands, knew that those sleeves were of a borrowed sweater belonging to Gerard. He knew his brother without ever needing a face. “Mikey!” He exclaimed, the recognition making it’s way through his body as he now felt safe to approach the before-thought burglar. His steps turned to leaps as he went to hug his brother. As Gerard’s arms wrapped around Mikey, he noticed something. Mikey wouldn’t let go of his head, if anything grasping his head harder than before, “Mikey, what’s wrong?”

 

     “Nothing.” His voice seemed hoarse as he tried to buck off Gerard’s probing hands.

 

     “C’mon, let me see, it has to be bad enough that you break into my apartment this late at night.”

 

     “You gave me a key, I’m not breaking in,” his voice mumbled. Before he could react, Gerard pulled Mikey’s arm away from his face and could see why Mikey said ‘No’. His eyes were red-rimmed and stained with tear tracks.

 

     “How long have you been here?” Gerard’s voice instantly softened as he raised a thumb to dry his brother’s cheek.

 

     “Don’t know.” Mikey said bluntly as he shrugged off Gerard’s now damp hand. After doing a quick sweep of the room, he knew Mikey had been there for awhile. Whatever news this was, it must’ve been bad, because just by looking around he could see how it affected him. Broken dishes were scattered across the kitchen floor, partially swept up shards were left next to an abandoned dustpan, and now he held his teary-eyed little brother. He almost didn’t want to know, but he had to so he would know just how to comfort him.

 

     “Do you want me to ask?” Wordlessly, the youngest grabbed the ripped open envelope and handed it over. While Gerard grabbed it, Mikey wiped away any remnants of his crying into the hem of his sweater. He flipped the package over to reveal a government looking letter, seals and everything, typed and addressed to a Michael J. Way. He had seen letters styled like this before but was praying in that moment to everything possible that it wasn’t the same type of letter that dragged away some of his best friends from their families. His hands developed a shake as he pulled, practically ripping, out the paper inside. He didn’t have to read it to know what it was. It was a draft notice.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 


	2. Apology

     Now Gerard was the one who couldn’t look up at his brother. Apologies, prayers, encouragements, condolences, they were all storming in his mind. It was flooding out any reasonable train of thought he had left. It left him speechless. The only sounds remaining was the faint buzzing of the string light and his rowdy neighbors, who always seemed to fight. As he was about to speak, Mikey’s hand flew to cover his mouth. His cry was now muffled, cheeks that had just been dried off now had tears once again running down them. At that true show of emotion, something went off in his brain, all the switches that kept him calm and in control had a power outage. The brothers found themselves slipping further to the floor, until both of them were leaned against parallel table legs, their heads grazing the bottom of the table. They were now openly crying. Gerard was unintentionally crumpling the letter, he tried to read it but his sobs made his shake too much to make out the words. It didn’t matter, he had it nearly memorized. Anytime one of his friends got the letter he’d always ask to see it out of curiosity. So he’d read it and each time was amazed that something as simple as a letter could decide whether you’d make it to Christmas, alive or not. The other times he had read the notice, the most emotion he could muster was an, “I’m so sorry.” It made sense that he showed emotion now, this was his brother, his family. This as someone he couldn’t lose, or else… well he didn’t want to think about that. So the “report to”, “you have now been selected”, and “land or naval forces” only now got to him. “No,” he whispered. Looking up from the notice to the draftee, the only thing breathed from his mouth was denial.

     After a while, Mikey got tired of hearing the “Nos”, “Whys”, and “Oh Gods”, so he spoke up. “I’m sorry.” That stopped the mantras instantly.

     “Why are you sorry?” Somehow his brother had gone back to his soothing tone, far from the near crazed one he was using not long ago.

     “For coming here, for stressing you out, for-for” he was cut off by his throat closing up, choking him with emotion. Leaning forward, his head was directed to the crook of Gerard’s neck.

     “Sh, sh, you didn’t do anything wrong, it’s okay.” He brushed his black bangs out of his eyes before doing the same to the dirty blonde ones below. The weight on his neck was released as Mikey made a half-hearted attempt to look at him. The look he gave made him want to hug him and never let go, he hated seeing his baby brother in any kind of pain.

     “Not okay, it’s not okay, I’m not okay.” Gerard took that as his cue to bring his now-crying brother to his chest to quiet him. Now tears of his own fell onto Mikey’s hair, but with one hand occupied in holding the head under his chin and one making rubbing circles on the youngest’s back, he made no attempt to wipe them away. He had come to realize the things that will happen. The sacrifice of innocence that Mikey couldn’t spare. The mental and physical strength that would be gained then lost at any moment. Holidays would now be spent praying from both parties that the next one they could spend it together, not with one six feet under. It all sunk in. The possibilities, the statistics, everything that could happen from now till the end of service. Which only made him hold Mikey tighter because he realized how quickly he was going to slip away.

     Eventually the neighbors stopped fighting, sirens were momentarily halted, now the brothers’ breathing simmered until it was overpowered by the hum of the light bulb. The youngest’s breathing evened out, sobs were no longer wracking his body, his weight seemed more dead than alive. After finding that it would be rather impossible to move him off and to the bed without waking, sleep eventually pulled the other in, leaving the two of them asleep, under the kitchen table, unsure of how tomorrow will pan out.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	3. Tiles

        Gerard awoke to the odd sound of buzzing. It was muffled, and he could feel the vibration more than hear it. The noise was still there and as he remembered, work. But that wasn’t what he should be worried about. No, not after last night. He has so many things to fix. Looking down, he smiled, it reminded him of when Mikey would have nightmares and sneak into his bedroom as children. After reminiscing, he tried to move without waking his brother, it proved difficult however. Eventually as he wiggled his arms out, his head hit the table, “Shit!” Gerard whispered, he hissed. Just a great way to start off the day, remembering that night, having neck problems from sleeping under a table, later hitting his head under the table, his stupid alarm was still on, and… as his gaze shifted down he saw two hazel eyes returning his glare. “Hey buddy, sorry, I was trying to turn that damn alarm off.” Receiving nothing he continued, “Do you mind moving to the couch?” Wordlessly, Mikey lazily stood and plopped on the couch, tucking his knees to his chin and hugged his arms around his middle. He wasn’t expecting him to talk much today.

        After carefully making sure he wouldn’t bump his head again, Gerard stood up, using the table to balance himself as the black dots danced along his vision. Dashing into his bedroom he turned off his clock and hid it under his pillow just to get rid of it. Sitting down he sighed, a long night with kinks in his back left the bed feeling thousands of times cozier than he left it. Resting his eyes for mere minutes he rose and walked down the hall to see his brother was in the same state he had left him in. Finally taking off his shoes, Gerard proceeded to walk up cautiously before kneeling in front of Mikey’s face. “I know it’s kind of early but maybe you want to get cleaned up?” Using his hand to tuck the younger’s hair behind his ears. Usually this annoyed Mikey, so when all he did was bury his face deeper into the pillow he knew it was going to a bit more prodding than a simple request. “I can get you a cup of coffee? I know you always sneak some in the morning.” Nothing. Staring at him was all he could do. He would wait as long as he needed, so he sat in front of the couch, he kept offering suggestions, but nothing was good enough bait. Eventually Mikey turned to face the wall and Gerard accepted it as resignation. Walking over to the phone he dialed his work, facing out the kitchen window he listened to the ringing, when someone finally picked up told them he had to look after his brother.

        The conversation was kept to a low tone, quietly explaining the situation the elder was granted as much time as he needed. Hanging up, he turned from the window noticing something. Mikey. His impression was still on the couch but there was no emotionally drained brother left. “Mikey?” he said, voice still quiet from the phone call. Increasing his volume as he made his way around the apartment, “Mikey?” Stopping a few feet from the bathroom he heard the off-beat pattern of shower water. Not wanting to disturb his sibling’s privacy he walked back to the living room and sat on the still warm couch. Gripping his hands into his hair he leaned forward, crying in a way that he couldn’t even speak. It’s after reached the end of gasping, and the word no stays on his lips but the words won’t come out, and he needs to be silent, Mikey couldn’t hear how much his wall of support could crumble so quickly. But he didn’t know what else Mikey was doing, the shower is a great place to cry, all of the evidence gets wiped away the second you step out, and any noise is overpowered. Leaving the mess of a new recruit alone to try and regain stability.

        It was amazing how much the two were alike, a wall apart, both having separate breakdowns over the same thing, but neither will mention it, because they both want the other to know they can have a strong counterpoint.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	4. Promises, Promises

Frank Iero was done, done with work, done with his stupid coworkers, and just done with life. He cussed as he drops his keys, another thing he’s done with. After in the doorway, he threw his briefcase down, but hanging the coat and hat nicely, not wanting to add to more house work for his wife. He nearly threw himself to the couch, arguing too much at work caused him to practically collapse. He rubbed his hands over his face to massage the bad day out. Breathing heavily he proceeded to rub his eyes, finally putting his hands aside and gaze to the ceiling. Looking around, he didn’t realize how stealthy his wife, Jamia, was. He sat up in alarm when he saw her eyes were wet with tears. Standing up to ask her the obvious question of if she was alright, Jamia had a few words of her own, “Why didn’t you tell me your number was picked?” 

 

“What do you mean?” Trying to keep his voice calm because honestly, the muddled angry tone Jamia was using was scaring Frank.

 

“For the lottery, you were picked and you didn’t think it was importan-”

 

“I wasn’t picked! The number was 158, I was 153.”Cutting her rising voice with confusion. 

 

Looking at the paper she had scrunched in her hand with relief, her face changed, and she shoved the form in his face, “Does that look like a three to you?” The quick morph of emotion was horrifying in itself, so Frank knew he had to look at the paper or have it shoved down his throat. Gently taking the paper from his wife he looked closely. The other half of the 8’s ink was wearing thin, great, now he had no excuse. He’d been drafted. 

 

“No they can’t,” he said, his voice biting back tears. “We have kids, we have a family!” He took Jamia’s hand, showing her the ring he worked so hard to pay for. They couldn’t take him away, there had to have been some exemption. The kids need a father, the wife needs a spouse, it’s how it worked. 

 

Looking up from her tended to hands, Jamia got into Frank’s line of sight, “You think I want you going? You think I want you off in some bombed to shit country? You think I want to be an army wife? Look at me,” struggling to get back into his line of sight she didn’t care he was nearly crying, she needed to get her point across. Giving up she dealt with talking to a looking away man. “Do you think I want the kids to be waiting everyday by the door like some fucking dog waiting for their master. What am I gonna say if, God forbid, something happens. ‘Sorry mommy’s gonna take care of you now, daddy won't be coming back.’” Bringing up their kids struck a chord enough for Frank to make eye contact, he bit his lip at the sensitive topic. “I don’t want you to become a tradition, or to not even have anything to bury.” Jamia couldn’t hold it back, she started sobbing, and he had to comfort her, even though he, himself wasn’t okay, someone need a wall, and he had to be there. The tradition part made him put his head atop her soft, brown hair. 

 

They always said it was the “Iero Curse”. All the men were killed in war, his father and grandfather had done so, but he prayed it skipped any further generations. Speaking of his generations, he started paying attention to his surroundings. His son was standing in the doorway, Miles, looking up at him with those innocent little eyes. Wearing a too long night shirt, making a little  _ fwhoop _ as the little boy waved. The father just smiled, mouthing a, “Hi”. Looking up, his son loudly whispered a returning, “Hello.” Jamia moved away from the close hold, turning to see the voice. Quickly cleaning herself up she moved out of the way as Miles ran up to his dad. Picking him up, Frank grunted, “What are you doing up buddy?” 

 

Sniffling like the small child he was, the boy responded, “Is what Mommy said true? Are you gonna go to war?”

 

Frank was impressed by his kid’s knowledge, but then again, he was one of the few families left that still had both parents. “Yeah,” he replied, not knowing much else to say. “But you remember Superman?” Seeing a slow smile creep, and waiting for a nod before continuing, “Well just like him, I’m gonna be back before you know it, Clark Kent always comes back anyway.” Making it a point to look up to his wife, so she knew as well, there’s no way he was coming back in a bodybag. 

 

“So while you’re away, are you gonna save people? Just like Superman?” Miles smiled, he always thought his daddy was a superhero, but now he’d have a chance to prove it. 

 

Pulling Miles away from him, Frank flew him around in his arms, making  _ whoosh  _ noises to add to the effect, “Just like Superman,” he whispered, smirking as his son giggled.

 

“But you promise you’ll come back soon?” Seriousness overtook the child almost as fast as his mother. 

  
Holding out a pinky and interlocking it with his son’s he pledged, “Buddy, I promise you 100% that I’ll come back better than ever.” Crossing his heart with his left hand to prove his point. 


End file.
